02-Hans the Heroic
by Fahiru
Summary: Though the story is the same, you may see that you never quite understood it until you had all the pieces. After all, even the villains have souls, even if they're frozen and forgotten for the sake of the future. [Twelve Shots of Summer:Second Raid] Week Two Main Prompt: Mask For SoSaysL


**02-Hans The Heroic**

 **By Fahiru**

He had always been the most cunning of the thirteen. Sure his brothers had attempted a few pranks at his expense, but he knew that he was still the best among them, and no one would ever catch up.

He could remember the first time he had switched.

Two years old, dinner party. He was the youngest, and therefor, the most excessive. A small kingdom did not need more than three heirs, let alone a baker's dozen. He had tipped the scale beyond ridiculous, and nobody really wanted him. And now, at the annual spring banquet(a title meant to cushion the fact that there were only twenty other nobles in the kingdom), he would need to be watched over, and nobody wanted to do it. Who would? He was only the thirteenth heir, there was no particular importance to his well-being. Who needed another fussy brat to look after?

Prince Hans was a mere toddler, but he knew that he was unwanted. Of course, he was not aware of the particulars, but he did know that being unwanted was not fun, and it certainly wasn't comforting. So he decided to become lovable, if only in appearance.

Prince Hans put on a show. He was obedient, but affectionate; he chortled at the half-hearted entertainment that the nurses gave him, but did not insist that they carried on to the point of being wearisome. And though this was not an evening that gave him complete popularity, the opinion among the staff became that he was at least easy to care for, and that didn't do any harm.

But he intended to be much more than simply harmless. Harmlessness doesn't guarantee affection, or support, or even attention. Hans knew he would have to work harder. So he did.

* * *

He didn't tell them. His brothers would have denied it of course, so he didn't bother.

The servants thought it was a game. He did nothing to make them suspect otherwise. In fact, he was very careful not to show any displeasure at their actions. Sometimes, he even tried to convince himself that it was a game, that it was all in good fun.

When they ignored him in the halls, or removed his seat from the dining room, he was okay. He would laugh along with them and pretend for all the world that it was a joke they played together.

They took the presents he received from his parents. They convinced the servants that a birthday for a prince who didn't exist should never be celebrated.

They told his parents that it was their own little joke. A joke that lasted two years.

One night, they locked him out of the room. He could remember how dark it was, a moonless night. Alone in the hallway, listening to dogs barking and people shouting.

But it was so much worse when it was quiet. When the palace felt empty, and for all his imaginative power, he could not convince himself that there was anybody in the world but him.

The only living thing on planet Earth.

Was it living? Alone on a cluster of islands, with not a friend, not a relative, not even servants to actually care for him; was he really alive? Even when he played along, even when he laughed, his brothers never gave him a second glance.

Was any of it real? _Did_ he _really_ exist?

 _No._ He whispered. _No, I'm here. I have to be. I can feel the grass and the wind and the sun on my face. I can feel the walls and the cold and the darkness._

And he started to cry, repeating the words over and over.

 _I am here. I am real. See me. See me. I am here._

A night guard found him. But when he was taken to his parents, he couldn't keep himself from switching again.

 _No, I'm alright. It was just a game. We always play this game. I'm fine._

He could change his voice, but he couldn't do the same for his face. As soon as they lit the candle to take him back to his room, he knew it was over. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop crying. He couldn't keep the secret.

They had to face terrible consequences, of course. Now they hated him more than ever.

But. But he was real again.

* * *

As he began to attach the mask more securely to his identity, he began to feel a sort of hollowness inside.

 _You're not real, and nobody needs you._

He tried to ignore it, didn't listen to that nagging voice as he built up his network of allies with favors, compliments, and promises. But as he bent to kiss a hand, or smiled at a dull-witted joke, he felt something inside to begin to slip.

 _You're losing your face. Where did it go? What does it look like? Find it. Go find it._

And again he felt bad for telling white lies, making fake friends for the sake of convenience and, eventually, power.

So he found a small, dark room in his heart where his forced down his conscience. Before he knew it, that space in his chest began to freeze over. Sometimes it kept him awake; sometimes he wondered if his heart was even still there. He would wake up from a dark and empty dream, pressing his fingers to his neck so hard it bruised, just to be sure that he still had a pulse.

Sometimes he thought he was already dead, and just pretending to be alive for the sake of image.

But his time was coming. His efforts would pay off, he'd be filled with passion and purpose so that the blood would melt and boil in his veins.

And the whole world would see him, and he would be alive. Until then, he would let no one know just how dead he felt.

It wasn't hard to convince them that he was the perfect person to send to the coronation.

Charming and cunning, refined, charismatic, young, harmless, attractive, a genius in diplomacy; there was no question that he was their best chance at success. He had already proven that he could cajole, persuade, seduce, and threaten his way into anyone's company, and could certainly infiltrate without arousing suspicion.

The southern isles were crowded. They needed to expand.

Thus, it would be his honor and duty to work his was into the kingdom of Arendelle as a spy and saboteur.

He would overthrow the royal family, making use of the established civilization as a location ready for colonizing.

None of this, of course, was his actual intent,

He would go, yes. He would manipulate his way into the good graces of whoever he needed, but not with the intent to sabotage the kingdom.

Far from it. He was going to become Arendelle's savior.

Everyone knew the story. The princesses had locked themselves away, abandoning their people.

Just like him, they had been ignored and denied, all these years.

So he would not push them out of their homes. He would become their ruler.

* * *

She was pretty. A little young, at least three years his junior, maybe as many as five. Then again, perhaps even more, seeing as growing up without the support of the local monarchs was bound to force some early maturity.

Probably of not much consequence, but she appeared to be noble. That could be a problem.

He apologized quickly, and to his surprise, she took it kindly. That was different. In his experience, noble women went to great lengths to guilt their offenders to the point of kissing their feet. To be forgiven so easily was a new experience, and he wasn't quite sure how to deal with it.

It made him feel a bit guilty anyway. He was going to take over the kingdom she called home, after all, yet here she was accepting him without a second thought. It was almost...sad.

He shook it off, however, and offered her his hand. She would thank him in a few years. It was this kind of vulnerability that he was going to protect under his inevitable reign, after all.

She took his hand gently. It caught him off-guard. She had struck him as a little scrappy, and maybe a bit wild, seeing as her less than dignified display hadn't seemed to bother her in the least. It had left him suspecting that she was good-natured, but rough. But she took his hand gently, and he was once again dismayed.

He introduced himself quickly. Whether to scare her off or reassure her, he didn't know.

And then she revealed that she was a princess. The princess of Arendelle.

He immediately fell to his knee and bowed, effectively hiding his horror.

No. No! She wasn't supposed to be like this!

Then he fell on her, and lost hope. As they continued to scramble to their feet, he could almost see all his carefully maneuvered plans falling to pieces in a matter of moments.

He apologized again, attempting to salvage something, anything that would keep him from falling to utter ruin.

Again, she took it kindly, revealing that she was not indeed the crown princess, but the younger sister. And he saw something he hadn't noticed before. She thought herself to be of no consequence. Unimportant, excessive.

"Just you?"

No. Not _just_ you.

She had caught him off guard for the second time in the few minutes that he had known her, and he began to feel an unwanted tug of pity.

No. It was worse than that.

She ran off to the coronation. Dutiful. Supportive. Alone.

And he realized with a pang of regret that he had began to feel something unfortunate.

He liked her.

Not infatuation, not love at first sight, not necessarily any romantic interest at all. But he definitely liked her, and that was a problem.

But with the shock of cold water that came as he fell from the dock, he realized that the encounter might in fact reinforce his success.

He didn't love her now, but he could in time. And maybe that was all he needed.

Maybe, just maybe, he could save her as well.

* * *

She wasn't a great dancer. It didn't matter. He found himself switching with ease, hardly any effort was required to win her over. It almost happened naturally.

She was quick to trust him. And even quicker to believe she loved him. He wanted to believe it too, he really did, but he knew that it was impossible for her to love him so quickly.

The idea of him, maybe. But the real him? Definitely not.

But maybe. Maybe she would eventually. Taking that chance, he asked her a very serious question. She replied with a very foolish answer.

He got what he wanted, but was almost terrified that it had come so easily.

He did not hide his anxiety as they asked for her sister's blessing. When it didn't come, he was distressed but unsurprised.

Of course something so hastily claimed could never last.

And in his heart of hearts, as he watched her sincerely and trustingly defend him, his conscience began to creep out of that little backroom where it had been stuffed so long ago. It climbed to the surface, and snuck up his spine and into the corner of his mind just long enough to whisper –

 _You're glad she can't marry you. She deserves better._

 _-_ before slipping back to the cold, untouched hollow place in his chest.

Then her argument got serious – serious for his sake – and the Queen did something that seemed to make the ice in his heart become real. No, it _was_ real. The Queen had a powerful and potentially dangerous ability inside of her.

And with that, everything clicked in place.

* * *

He wasn't expecting her to leave. The Queen, yes, but the Princess? He should have seen it coming, granted, but it would have been more convenient if she had let him go after the Queen instead. He wouldn't convince her to come back, of course. Wouldn't even try. He would act like it, maybe, but depending on the threat posed and the most effective options, he would either psychologically destroy her and force her to leave, or he would catch her off guard and kill her himself.

The Princess wouldn't know the truth. She would wait patiently, safely at home until he came back with the news of the Queen's tragic suicide. After an appropriate mourning period, he would marry the Princess and become the rightful ruler.

But the Princess did not stay put. She was either brave or lacked even more commonsense than he thought, and hopped on a horse to chase after her sister.

Leaving him in charge.

 _She trusts you. She'll defend you to the last._

He shuddered off the creeping conscience, turning his attention to the task at hand; taking care of an entire kingdom with limited supplies and less than ideal weather conditions. He knew the best route was to trust the natives, being more used to dealing with this climate than a foreigner from the south, and soon lost himself in handing out blankets and a sort of alcoholic punch.

* * *

The horse came back, but its rider was missing.

He didn't know quite what to feel. He knew her shortly, liked her quite a bit, and needed her out of the way. This might have been exactly what he needed, but he found that he really would have preferred if he could have kept her as an ally. He knew, too, that the Queen was still a loose end that need tying up, and quite possibly the cause of the disappearance. Under the guise of a search party, he assembled some of his men to go after her. He secretly hoped that they really would discover the fate of the Princess as well.

And then that blasted Duke sent along a pair of his henchmen.

Prince Hans was not fooled. He knew that the Duke had equally determined, but much less cunning plans of sabotage and seizure. He knew the Duke was likely to fail, even if Hans had not been his competitor. Yet, it did make things much more complicated if he was faced with the ordeal of dealing with the two of them, especially with the guard that was accompanying him. He needed to seem as harmless and sincere as possible, and to do that he would need to protect the Queen from any obvious attacks that may occur, rather than being able to subtly knock her off and stage a suicide. With the two henchmen, he would have to actively defend her, maybe even save her life. As it was, though, he might have been able to act just powerless enough to fail to protect her, but catch the men and have them taken out of the picture.

It would have to work.

On the journey there, he was able to accept that he did have a mild appreciation for the powers of the Queen. It was almost a pity that he was going to have to kill her, really, with all the potential she had. She would have been a fantastic ally, had she not been his enemy.

It was even more difficult to accept his role when he came to her palace, with its sweeping, majestic design. He found that he could soon get over these feelings, however, when he was nearly killed by a huge, living snow-beast. He thought that maybe he wouldn't have to worry about the henchmen after all.

She was scared. He saw everything she did was overflowing with a suffocating fear that oozed and streaked through the walls, shaking the floor and creeping to the frozen depths of his heart. It gripped him even as he steeled himself against it, and his resolve nearly faltered again.

That feeling of inadequacy, the fear of disappointment and failure, and the anxiety of one who hides their face, who loses their identity.

She was like him. But not like him. She could not fully break from who she was, and yet _he_ could not have found his true face among the thousands that he knew to wear.

But he knew she could not come back. He saw that she was slipping, unstable. Even in a moment of mercy, he could not allow her to take back her kingdom, even if only for the sake of the people. She seemed too far gone to control the power, allowing it to consume her. She was an unstable, dangerous person to have around, let alone be a ruler.

He almost got her. He timed the shot to look like a save, but in reality was aiming for the chandelier the entire time. She managed to dodge, but was left unconscious. He had no choice but to bring her back.

But even as the party wrapped her up and hoisted her onto a horse, he remembered that her sister was still missing, and her conscience wouldn't like that.

He could still make it work.

* * *

She was back. She was dying.

He had initially been very relieved to see her again. Some strange man placed her in his arms, and he barely noticed any face but her own and he rushed her back inside.

Alive! Dying?

And he was worried. He let her lay on the sofa in a parlor, held her hand, let her explain. It was hard for her to talk. She was freezing from the inside out; like him.

There was a way to save her, a glimmer of hope. The one thing it was impossible for him to do.

If he could have called on exotic cures, scores of magicians, even completed a magical quest- he would have done it all. He didn't want her to have to die after all of this, not really, but there was nothing he could do.

The cure was true love's kiss, and he had never known love in his entire life.

Love her? He liked her. But love? Had he ever loved anybody? Had he ever _been_ loved?

No. Not even by her. She was sweet, brave, reckless, but without understanding the full consequences, she could not love him. And as much as he would have liked to, he did not know her and thus could not love her in return. For he knew more than anyone that a person is more than what you see.

But she trusted him. Even as he leaned over her, his heart began to race and he saw a way out, a way to save her. He might not get the kingdom. He might lose it all. But it would end the winter, and it would save Princess Anna.

All his life he had lived with the motivation that he would lose himself to save others like him. What did any of this mean if he couldn't do that now for this young woman, the only person that had ever believed in him?

He took a breath and said the words that broke his heart, that he was truly saying to himself more than to her.

"If only there was someone who loved you."

* * *

He was almost there. She had believed him. He locked her in the room to keep her from stopping him, from seeing what he was about to do.

It would hurt her. He had already hurt her and was now just dealing a finishing blow, but if it worked- he could see the figure getting clearer in the distance- if it worked she would be safe. She would never truly recover, but she would be free to grow and the winter would be over. She could go outside and have sunshine, friends. She would even be allowed to start a family if she felt like it.

He knew what would happen to him. Execution here, or sent back and then executed by his own kingdom. He would be, after all, considered a traitor for getting caught.

And he would get caught, because if killing the Queen would melt the ice and snow, for all he knew it would also melt the ice that was slowly killing the Princess. And then she would condemn him to death.

He caught the Queen. He tormented her, got her guard down. He was not quick with the sword, but soon seeing that Anna had managed to escape and was moving towards them, he had to be sure to screw his face into an expression of wicked intent.

 _I_ am _wicked. I have allowed myself to somehow become the villain, after all._

That was how it worked. Sacrifice the future of the people for the good of their rulers.

And he felt something inside of him sort of snap as he allowed the blade to fall, but was not too far gone to veil his surprise as Anna made it before him to block the sword, before turning into solid ice.

* * *

She was alive.

He hadn't killed the Queen, he didn't know _what_ had happened, but both of them were alive and well.

And he was sent home.

He realized during the voyage that they did not realize exactly what this meant. He assumed they were hoping to be harsh, but as neither one had quite a firm grip on reality, they had no idea how harsh they were actually being. They just thought it was exile. He knew it meant death. Once home, he would take the fall for the failed relations and inability to colonize, and would most likely lose his head or be hung.

And he was afraid.

He hadn't expected to be scared. He was strong-minded and acted with knowledge of the consequences, but he was scared. He was brave and intelligent and wise beyond his years, but he was terrified of his impending doom.

 _What was it all for? All these years, and what has my life been worth?_

And in the last hours before they reached port, he remembered that he had not killed one person. That his interference had united a kingdom and caused sisters to reunite. That his actions had led Anna to save her sister and to in turn be saved. Because of him, not one of them had died and there were now no more secrets. None but his own.

And although he could not quite believe himself, he was comforted to think, even if it was only for a little bit, that perhaps even through losing his face and any hope of glory, he had truly had been a hero after all. He hoped, at least, that he had found himself in the end.

* * *

(A/N: **[Twelve Shots of Summer: Second Raid]** week two main prompt, Mask. I have actually been working on this for quite a while, and it is very important to me. I may go back and post a second, updated version simply because this is my head-canon and I treasure it like no other. If Hans really were the villain- which he wasn't- he would have outsmarted everyone even in them thinking that they defeated him. As it is- he did.

Dedicated to SoSaysL)


End file.
